AN: I bet you all thought I died or something. Well, I didn't, and I also didn't give up on this story. I guess I've been busy, but I also just wasn't feeling it. So; sorry for making you wait so long! But I'm back.

Thanks to: Mother of Anarchy, Nyeh Creampuff, Love is Hate, September Rhyme, Kinder Wulf, Kitty Otaku, BlakValentyne-U69, deikitty, Kit-Cub-Suzume, specialsari, Daybreak Flower, gonzomouse, cratermaker, C Elise, Arlende Madhatter, and yaven for reviewing, and thanks to everyone who fav'd this, put it on alert, or read(s) it at all.

I know where I want to go with this fic, but it'll be awhile getting there. Shall I continue? (I think I will anyway, no matter what!) Thanks for sticking with me, everyone, and I hope you'll continue to do so, until the conclusion (which I am nowhere near yet)!

Btw; yaven: once upon a time, when I wrote the chapter, I had some great idea in my head as to where they got the money for the vending machines, but of course I've forgotten it now. But I do love how astute all of my readers are; keep questioning me! It keeps me on my toes. For now, let's just say...they get pocket money every so often. Will that work? I mean, L is pretty affluent, so I would assume that there is money of his set aside specifically for the children of Wammy's. Also, Watari is rich cuz of all his inventions, and he loves kids. So maybe he thought of the little things, such as not only putting vending machines in his orphanage, but also making sure the kids could use said vending machines. I hope you'll accept that answer! Anyway, on to the chap!

March

As February blended into March, Matt started actively looking for cigarettes. He had exhausted his supply, yet he craved more. He hated himself, just a little, for being so foolish. He had known, going into this experiment of his, that he could easily become addicted. But he had done it anyway, believing himself strong enough not to succumb. He had been wrong about himself. It was a hard lesson to swallow, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He needed a smoke; he felt almost as irritable as Mello, and it seemed harder for him to concentrate. He had gone a couple of days without a cigarette, and he felt ready to lash out at the first person who looked at him cock-eyed. Feeling desperate, Matt haunted the footsteps of one of the teachers who he knew smoked, and awaited his chance to filch some.

It was easy enough to lift a few smokes from her purse, and the slight twinge of guilt Matt felt washed away as the first few drags circulated through his system. He felt instantly calmer. He had some smokes; they would tide him over for now. He could get more later. And no one was the wiser.

April

Once again, Matt found himself in Mello's room. Mello was sitting cross-legged on his bed, books spread out before him. His hair kept swinging forward and getting in his eyes, and every few minutes he would push it out of his face with an exasperated sigh. Matt wanted to suggest that he pull it back, but the only things to secure it would be barrettes, or maybe a hair tie. And Mello hated, hated, hated any allusions to the fact that he might possibly look anything at all like a girl.

At ten, Mello was still slender, and his hair hung straight around his chin. Life at Wammy's wasn't all roses, even for the sometimes top-ranked child. Kids that had been there for ages, only to be usurped by 'punk kids' like Mello often felt more than a little incensed. It was a good thing that Mello had already made a name for himself as a tough guy; it kept most of the other kids off his back. Every once in awhile, however, someone thought that it would be a good idea to take Mello on. They quickly found themselves beaten and humiliated, but it bothered Mello that he should have to defend himself at all. More often the attacks on him were verbal, labeling him as everything from teacher's pet (which he wasn't) to a girl. It was the remarks on his physical appearance that made Mello the angriest. For, as he pointed out, how could he control what he looked like? But even on genius children, logic didn't always apply, and he was teased more often than he would like by jealous competitors.

Matt knew it was also futile to suggest a haircut. Mello had his hair cut about every six weeks, like clockwork. It always grew back fairly quickly. And Matt had no desire to be snapped at right now; Mello had a test coming up, and any interruptions were likely to result in loss of limbs. Matt sighed, wishing that there was more he could do to help his friend. As it was, he had to be content just sharing some time with Mello, even if it was the silent kind. Matt settled his back more firmly against the bed and turned to his own homework. Math would keep him occupied for awhile. His notebook was propped up against his drawn-up knees, and his book lay open on the floor beside him. Matt's pencil scritched across the page, quiet accompaniment to the occasional turning of pages that issued from Mello's perch.

Late April

At the end of the school day, when all was confusion, Matt fought his way through the halls, going from classroom to classroom. There were many rooms that he did not visit. No one watching could have determined a pattern in his movements. No one was watching, but Matt didn't know that. The point was, if someone had been, he would not have been in any way obvious. Matt was stocking up on cigarettes, stealing them a few at a time from many different sources, and he had to silently thank his Urban Survival class, as well as his espionage classes, for making this possible. He would escape detection; he knew that now. They had given him the tools he needed to feed his vice, and they didn't even know it.

Matt finally reached the safety of his room, his pockets and bag filled with stolen goods. He locked the door behind him and carefully removed all the cigarettes he had pilfered. He kept them in a small box to preserve them, and he hid the box behind his wall vent. He felt giddy with success. Maybe he would never be a spy, but he was a damn good pickpocket. Matt didn't even care that that wasn't such a nice thing to be. He took pride in all of his accomplishments. To celebrate this particular heist, he lit one of his smokes and inhaled deeply, pulling the smoke into his lungs. Then he turned to something he had not yet accomplished; the breaking of Wammy's system.

May

By May, the bad weather had gone for good. New grasses had come in, and flowers were blooming on the hillsides. The end of the year was approaching again, and Matt could hardly believe how the days had flown by. He hoped, for Mello's sake, that his friend would come out on top this year. They still had weeks to wait, however, and the intervening time was not spent idly.

Matt's forays into the technological world were proving frustrating. He suspected that the system itself was changing. Or, more likely, that someone was actively trying to thwart him by changing the system just days after he thought he'd gotten a lock on it. Whoever it was (if it was a person and not a mutating system) was very good, and could probably type faster than he could. Matt resolved next year to look up some typing classes, if such a thing existed. He thought he'd gotten a good handle on typing from all his computer classes, but there was usually room for improvement.

In the meantime, Matt was able to coax Mello outside for games of soccer, despite the rigid study schedule Mello had set up for himself. Exams were approaching, but Mello agreed that the brain needed to rest sometimes, so as not to become overworked and therefore lose all power of retention.

Mello still seemed fiercely competitive, but on days like these, when they were outside, away from Near, away from books, Matt dared to hope that he hadn't lost his friend to a challenge he wished to be no part of. It was almost like old times. After one such day, when the weather had been too inviting not to go out (and after Mello had finished studying), Matt and Mello played a pick-up game of soccer on the main lawn. Mello made sure his team won, and as the shadows began to lengthen, he and Matt flopped on the grass to catch their breaths.

Matt smiled. He was hot, but flushed with victory. He laughed for the pure joy of life, and thanked his body for endorphins. He also thanked his body for not betraying him with shortness of breath or a hacking cough from smoking. Beside him, Mello smiled back. "That was fun," Matt breathed.

"Yeah," Mello agreed. "Hey, did you see how I scored my second goal? Just right under that guy-! He was way too slow for me."

"Yeah," Matt agreed. "Cool." He stared up at the sky and watched as the setting sun painted the clouds. "Hey, we should do something fun," Matt suggested.

"Like what? Didn't we just do something fun?" Mello reminded him.

"Yeah, but, something else. Like, I dunno, stay up late and play pranks or something."

"What kind of pranks?" Mello asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking out loud."

"Yeah." Mello pillowed his arms under his head. "Or we could just play video games or something."

Matt sat bolt upright. "Really? 'Cause I was gonna say that, only I didn't think you would want to."

Mello laughed. "I guess," he replied. "I mean, if you want to."

"Well, yeah," Matt assured him. "Or whatever you want. Something. You know."

"Yeah."

They stayed there, watching the sky darken and feeling the grass cool around them, until well past dinner, after which they went inside to scrounge some candy.